


Blind Eyes

by iwillsendapostcard (zoeteniets)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeteniets/pseuds/iwillsendapostcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max gets a phone call at an inopportune moment. </p><p>Or: why is it that Max is so focused on dismantling the 00 programme?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> To my mind, Max's grudge against the 00's is so strong that it has to be personal. I wondered if it was because Max wanted Q to himself, and Bond was an obstacle to this. Who better to find someone who has gone off-grid than Mr "I faked getting shot in the head"? I don't know where the serial killer thing came from though- your guess is as good as mine...
> 
> Please note that the James/Q paring is secondary in this fic. I do love the ship though, which is why it slips in here.

It is 3:35 am and the phone is ringing.

Max disentangles himself from the long limbs holding him and reaches over to the bedside table. ‘Staying Alive’ is blasting from the phone’s tinny speakers. This can only mean one thing.  

“Brother” he grumbles down the phone

“Well hello there my dear Maximillian” Jim’s voice sounds cheery as ever, “and how are you this fine morning?”

“I was doing perfectly well until you and the Bee Gees decided to wake me up. What do you want?”

“Can’t I just phone for a little fraternal chat?”

“Not at arse o’clock in the morning you can’t” He sighs rolling himself out of bed so as not to disturb the sleeping body beside him, “Jim, I’ve got company. This better be urgent”

“Urgency is relative Max. But I _do_ have a piece of information that I thought you might like to hear a.s.a.p.” he pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously.

“Jim, don’t tease”

“I’ve found him”

Max’s world narrows to a very fine point.

Him. He’s been found.

“Brother?” Jim enquires after a pause.

“Where” It’s a strangled breath, a sound Max can barely force past his lips.  

“Now Max, you must promise me, no rash decisions”

“That’s rich coming from _you_ ” Max scoffs.

“… But I don’t want you running to that awful Blofeld…”

“Jim” Max warns

“… honestly brother, I don’t know why you don’t just go freelance. I know you won’t work with me, but you can’t honestly enjoy wasting away at…”

“For Christ’s sake Jim will you just tell me!”

Jim pauses, Max can almost hear him smiling, “Why brother, he’s right under your nose”

Max’s head involuntary twitches to look back at the bed.

“No, don’t be obtuse. Just how drunk were you last night?” Jim’s right of course. From where he is standing Max can see a shock of black hair peeking out from under the blankets, a pale arm thrown haphazardly over the warm spot Max had just vacated. But the hair is too long and too curled to be _his_. The parting on the wrong side. The fingers while long are not clever enough. Fragile, but not delicate.

“Dear, there is a reason all your nine eyes could not find him”

Of course. So simple. “MI6” Max realises.

“The very same”

“Oh my God- the new Q. That whiz-kid they were chattering about at the Home Office. It’s him”

Jim lets him pause for a bit and Max is grateful for it. His world is tilting on its axis. He needs time to breath, to think, to plan.

“Brother” Jim’s voice is quieter now, smaller, like he is speaking to a spooked animal, “There is something else, and you are _not_ going to like it. I have footage, of a certain nature, showing him and 007”

The emphasis is inescapable. Max drowns for a moment. “How long?”

“A while, by the looks of things. It seems it took Bond a very long time to persuade the Quartermaster into bed. But he does seem rather intent on claiming your boy for his own” Max grits his teeth but Jim can’t resist, “you never told me he was that flexible”

“Jim” It sounds like a growl, and even Jim can appreciate the warning.

“All right, all right, I understand. Some toys are not for sharing”

The joke falls flat. There is a pause.

Then a breath, “I am going to rip him apart” Max says, very slowly. Jim does not need to ask whom.

“Speaking of which, do you have anything special for tonight’s offering”

Max wanders back to the bed, his ear still pressed against his phone. He runs a long finger up the inside of the arm of the man sleeping there. He doesn’t move.

“Asphyxiation” He enjoys rolling the word around his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it. He feels better already. When he eventually puts the phone down he is going to kneel across the hips of this slim, pale imitation of his love, and he is going to choke the life out of him.

“I never did work out, if you are killing them because they have the audacity to _not_ be him, or because you love is so far away, and this is the closest you can get to him…”

Honestly, he doesn’t know either. But it does calm the ache the absence of his love causes. Hearing their screams, tasting their blood, that little moment of ecstasy as their life leaves them. It doesn’t tame the beast that roars beneath his bones and howls for that which is absent, but it does quiet it. Momentarily.  

“…I need him brother. Oh God, I need him so much…” Max admits. Jim and he had never been particularly touchy-feely as siblings, preferring grand gestures to actual human moments of comfort. But the words are out before they can be reined in, and the truth in them is inescapable.

“I know my dear. I know”

“I am going to take everything from him. I am Jim. I am going to take his job, his country, his life. And then my love will have no choice to come back to me. He’ll run to me with open arms, won’t he Jim” Max can hear his own voice rising. He’s almost hysterical with it, the pain driving him mad.

“Go to your love brother” Jim sooths, “I won’t stop you. Although I do sometimes wish that you would stop with this obsession.”

Max gives a hollow laugh, “one word, my dear. _Sherlock_ ”

“Indeed, Max. You make a good point”

He hangs up; that’s enough brotherly affection for one night.

Max places the phone back onto the nightstand and takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him. It’s a flawed masterpiece, a slightly distorted copy of the original, like a painting by a master reproduced by his students.

The creature in his bed does not stir when Max reaches down to run his fingers through the too-soft hair. The man, Adrian Max seems to remember, only seems to move into the touch in his sleep. Max sits there and thinks of the day when he will be able to do this to his love instead. Then he remembers that an 00 agent could be in Max’s rightful place, performing the same action on a man that should be, by all rights, untouchable.

Max feels a little ill, wondering how the seduction happened. Did Bond court with words or deeds? Was their relationship a slow-burner or a sudden eruption of passion? They must be keeping it a secret, for Max to not have noticed it yet, but why?

Oh the tease, he realises. What a gorgeous delectable tease. What a ruse to send him on. Surely this was a puzzle set for him to fix. A challenge to his claim. Clearly his love wished for him to feel jealous, to chase and claim and assert his possession. That was it.

The minx.

Max runs his hands down Adrian’s throat. He’d actually been quite nice. Very obliging when Max bought him a drink, and amenable to the suggestion of a fuck. They’d gone both ways because why limit yourself? Adrian had sighed and moaned prettily when asked to. But their limited conversation reviled that he was of little interest. In his twenties, an artist, a pretty little loaner. No one to miss him much.

As he moves to sit across his chest he absently wonders if his love has noticed the game that he is playing. The young men scattered up and down the country. They’re all killed differently, because patterns are obvious and it wouldn’t do to have that brother of his muscle in on the case. Their similarities are varied as well. Sure, Adrian here bears a striking resemblance in looks, but the one before had been ginger and chosen for his hacking ability. Before that was the boy that shared his name, before that the lips.

He leans down to kiss this stand-in’s hairline. “Oh my love” he sighs, “my little love. How I wish it were you who were here. But I will find you very soon my dearest. And we will be together. And you will know nothing but me. And we will be blissfully, ecstatically happy. But for now I am sending you a gift”  

Near the end, Adrian struggles. Max is glad for it; an easy kill would leave him without the adrenalin rush that he needs to turn his mind from raging vengeance to something more productive. He turns over, reaches up to clasp at Max’s wrists, but it is already too late. A few moments pass, and then it is over, Adrian’s eyes staring up, seeing nothing.

 

In a little while Max will shower, clean up the rented flat, and have the body disposed of.

Tomorrow, he will begin to dismantle the 00 programme.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am in this ship all on my lonesome. Come scream at me about this paring (or Max Denbigh in general) on Tumblr :) 
> 
> This fic was planned to be a stand-alone only but I'm now in the process of ploting a more substantial sequel. I could really use some beta help, so if anyone would like to jump on board with me please do PM me or grab me on tumblr!


End file.
